


Bad Day

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy phase, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Timeskip, some slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: “It had been a bad couple of days, to say the least, not even considering the rest of the gloom and weight lingering around the monastery. And Linhardt had thought and analyzed and wondered, pouring over his own research to compare it to the likes of Solon’s, until his head ached and his eyes burned. Now, sitting out in the rain, surrounded by a handful of sad, sodden books, countless hours of his life inked into their pages, all he could bring himself to feel was tired. Tired of it all, of the grief and skepticism, and exhausted down to the bone.”orCaspar comes around to cheer Linhardt up.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 3
Kudos: 81





	Bad Day

Linhardt wasn’t sure when it had started raining. The day had started rather pleasant in terms of weather, with gentle sunshine and an equally mild breeze, perfectly warm with just a hint of chill to the air. Yet, eventually, the clouds loomed and darkened, growing heavier and blocking out the sunlight. Eventually, somewhere between the front and back covers of his second book, a delicate mist had turned to a sprinkle, then rain in earnest. The earlier breeze grew stronger, wilder, and pulled at Linhardt’s hair. The leaves overhead rustled with it, too, the sturdy tree he was leaning against doing a rather poor job of shielding him from the water. 

Though, he found himself having a difficult time caring, even as his hair plastered to his cheeks, stuck in his eyes, and his uniform hung limply off his frame. Even when the painstakingly filled and written pages of his research notebooks turned soggy and the ink smeared, he just couldn’t be upset about it. Maybe it was what was best for him, what he deserved, and the rainstorm was the goddess’s way of setting him straight. If that was the case, it was working. The thought of hauling all of his research, the entirety of his collection on crests, out to the stormy courtyard was all too appealing, and if it didn’t involve carrying loads of heavy books, he might have done it already. 

Heaving a sigh, Linhardt set the notebook he had been gingerly leafing through back to the ground, the remnants of the last page stuck to his fingers in soggy, pulpy bits. The echoes of ghastly things still swam in the back of his mind, dredging up darkness. It had been that way since the return from Remire village, when they all learned the true nature of Solon. And, as much as it pained him to admit it, the similarities between the horrid dark mage and himself were striking, and Linhardt could see glimmers of the man in himself. Obsessions were dangerous things, as were crests, and the combination was a slippery slope towards awful, terrible things. 

And Linhardt couldn’t help but worry that, one day, his research would lead him straight down the same path Solon took, one consumed by a lust for knowledge and paved in blood. Or, had he already started on his way there, towards becoming someone so deep in their quest for understanding they lost perspective? Blinded. Deranged. A monster. He had been ruminating in those thoughts, those doubts and insecurities, nearly from the moment they left the village, blood and filth and death staining the cuffs of his pants and the creases of his fingers. Though, no matter how much he mulled them over, he couldn’t see it all, not from the outside. He couldn’t figure how far was too far, and if he’d already crossed that line. All he could see were Solon and crests, rot and death, rain and soggy journal pages. 

It had been a bad couple of days, to say the least, not even considering the rest of the gloom and weight lingering around the monastery. And Linhardt had thought and analyzed and wondered, pouring over his own research to compare it to the likes of Solon’s, until his head ached and his eyes burned. Now, sitting out in the rain, surrounded by a handful of sad, sodden books, countless hours of his life inked into their pages, all he could bring himself to feel was tired. Tired of it all, of the grief and skepticism, and exhausted down to the bone. 

He didn’t even notice Caspar approaching, his own lack of presence of mind and the din of the rain blocking it out, until the squelching of boots on muddy ground got so close it was tough to ignore. A single glance up revealed a sunny smile that nearly reached his eyes and a mess of damp, azure hair. That picture of a more subdued Caspar wasn’t one Linhardt saw often, and even in the gloomy atmosphere, it was a bit of a surprise not to see him acting his usual, boisterous self. Though, Linhardt thought he appreciated it, in the moment. He wasn’t sure he was up for all that energy. 

“What’re you up to?” Caspar asked, seeming little more bothered by the rain than Linhardt was. Though, he wasn’t drenched to the bone yet, merely damp in streaks across the tops of his shoulders and through his hair. 

The answer to Caspar’s question, though, seemed so loaded and heavy it was almost comical. But, Linhardt swallowed down the bitter laugh and tried to absorb some of Caspar’s innocence. “Just doing a bit of reflecting,” he answered, tone hardly matching the breezy, thoughtless words. 

For as dense as he could be at times, Caspar seemed to put together the pieces. His gaze flickered between Linhardt and the scattered notebooks, something thoughtful in his expression before grim realization stole its place. Heaving a sigh, like he knew he was about to get into something long and heavy and burdening, which he likely was, Caspar sat down beside Linhardt, hugging close to the tree trunk to keep as far under the canopy as he could. The rain was slowing a little now, but it still fell steadily to the ground, and would quickly soak a person without some sort of protection. 

“You’re a good person, Lin. You know that, right?” Caspar questioned, idly pulling blades of grass up from the muddy earth, one at a time. 

Linhardt, in fact, did not know that. He thought of himself as decent, at the very least, for most of his life. He had always been well aware of his flaws, a certain lack of motivation being chief among them, but they never seemed to weigh too heavily. He always thought he had a rather good heart, as well as sturdy morals and a subtly compassionate side. Yet, now, he couldn’t keep the doubts from seeping in, turning spots of his heart and mind dark with insecurity. Had he pushed people too hard in the name of knowledge? Had his experiments steered towards the side of cruelty? Was his aversion to blood the only thing keeping him from doing worse? 

Linhardt couldn’t answer those questions, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure he wanted to, for fear of what he might find. “I really would like to think that. However, recent events have... put some doubts in my mind,” he replied hesitantly. 

“Well, whatever you’ve been thinking, quit thinking it,” Caspar said, sure and firm. “Just because some monster went too far doesn’t mean you will,” he affirmed, catching Linhardt’s gaze with eyes so fiery and determined it was hard not to believe every word he said. 

His next words were so thoughtless, spoken like an indisputable fact. “You’re too good for that.”

Something caught in Linhardt’s throat, but he couldn’t tell whether his breath or his heart had gotten there first. 

“If you’re so sure,” Linhardt relented, but it was just as much from Caspar’s determination as the heat pooling in his eyes, the knot clogging his throat. Something about Caspar’s wholehearted belief struck him hard in the chest, piercing deep past the swirling clouds of questioning. Everyone thought he was smart. Everyone thought he was talented. Everyone said as much. No one told him with such confidence that he was a good person. 

“I am, so cheer up,” Caspar said, a rather heartening smile lighting up his face. Gently, he nudged Linhardt’s shoulder with his own, offering what other support he could. 

“I’m not so sure it’s that easy, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Linhardt replied, surprised to find himself feeling lighter than he had in days. Maybe it really was that easy; a few uplifting words could do a lot, after all. And Caspar’s sunny smile did wonders to push away the gloom of the rain and clouds. 

Seemingly deciding the matter had been settled, Caspar got to his feet and brushed a few stray leaves from his pants. He ruffled a hand through his hair, too, shaking out the worst of the water. Then, with the drier of his two hands, which wasn’t saying much considering he had been sitting in he drizzle long enough to pull Linhardt from his daze, he reached out in offering. Tentatively, Linhardt took the hand in his own, letting Caspar pull him upright again. It seemed he was always doing that these days, pulling Linhardt up, pulling him forwards when the days came that he felt like standing still.

“What do you say we go get something to eat? I haven’t seen you in the dining hall in days, so you must be hungry,” Caspar said, easy in that way he had about him. 

Some sort of warmth dredged up from Linhardt’s chest, an odd mixture of guilt and gratitude. While he had made a few quick trips for food, nausea and numbness kept him away, for the most part. Luckily, Caspar didn’t comment any farther, but Linhardt knew he must have been worried. Still, even in the uncomfortably warm flare of shame, he was relieved to feel something aside from the cold sluice of water down the back of his neck and the lingering shadow that filled his chest and blocked out everything else. 

“That sounds nice,” Linhardt assented. He let his fingers slide between Caspar’s, and immediately, his azure eyes lit up. He gave Linhardt’s hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling him out from beneath the heavy canopy of the tree. The rain had all but stopped, then, only a fine mist lingering in the air. Sun spotted through the clouds, too, breaking up the unrelenting grey with streaks of gold. 

In the dining hall, Linhardt even found himself laughing along with Caspar as they ate, sopping wet and garnering amused glances from their classmates. And, just then, he liked to think that moments like that were what kept him grounded, kept him from wandering too far to the wrong side of right. As long as he had Caspar to offer a reassuring smile and kind words when things got tough, he was fairly sure he would turn out just fine. Because he couldn’t bring himself do anything that would turn Caspar’s blue, sunny sky to grey. So, he ate and laughed and let his worries over research and ethics fall away for a little while. His friends were more important, and that was what marked him different from monsters like Solon. He had things, people, worth staying good for.


End file.
